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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28241526">technoblade sometimes dies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokovie/pseuds/tokovie'>tokovie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Execution, Hurt No Comfort, phils kids keep dying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:41:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,568</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28241526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokovie/pseuds/tokovie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Technoblade's execution goes all according to plan.</p><p>And Phil is forced to watch.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Technoblade &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>360</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>technoblade sometimes dies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this was written before the sbi fd was decanonized. sadge</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Phil cursed himself when he saw Techno being escorted into L’Manberg.</p><p>He was surrounded on all sides by those men donning bloodied aprons. Tubbo led the group in front, looking all too pleased with himself while Fundy and Quackity followed close behind. Phil felt the anger stirring at the sight of his own fucking <em>grandson</em> pressing the tip of a crossbow between Techno’s shoulder blades. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere; Phil could see the restraints around his hands, trapping them behind his back. He was stripped of his usual armour. But his head was still held high, confident despite his situation. Or perhaps he was just too proud to show his weakness.</p><p>Regardless of his son’s view on the circumstance, dread twisted in his gut. <em>Did I send my message too late?</em></p><p>Techno was ushered on to the wooden platform. Quackity was barking orders from the back, but quickly rode past the group on a dark horse with - no that was <em>Carl.</em> A deep frown set on his face. That must have been how they got him here. Techno would never fall to this pathetic army in a fight. They must have held Carl hostage. Techno was always fond of that horse.</p><p>Phil felt absolutely helpless.  “You actually got him,” He muttered.</p><p>At the sound of his voice Techno’s head whipped up to the balcony, long braid flicking from the sudden movement. Red eyes went wide from behind his glasses. He ran forward, closer, seeming to disregard the shouts of protest from the Butcher Army, “Phil! Phil, are you okay? What did they do to you? Phil?” He spoke quickly and without composure.</p><p>Phil shifted on his feet, uncomfortable. He was all too aware of the pressure on his ankle. “They’ve got me under house arrest. They put this- this ankle monitor on me.” He opened his mouth to continue, but the words died on his tongue. It was pathetic how easily this happened. Sure, he was getting older, but he had barely resisted when the four began looting his chests. He didn’t want his own son to see him as a liability.</p><p>Though he supposed that if Techno - who was more than capable of holding his own - had been captured, he never stood a chance.</p><p>That awakened Techno’s anger. He spun back around to face the Butcher Army, and Phil could see his hands wildly twisting, trying to break free of the rope restraining them. “Leave Phil alone, he has nothin’ to do with this!” He spat, uncharacteristically emotional, “Do whatever you want with me, but leave him out of it!”</p><p>It wasn’t good when Techno got angry like this. “Techno,” Phil warned, trying to prevent an outburst. His eldest had told him one night about the voices in his head, and how they demanded for blood. <em>Blood for the blood god,</em> he had said. Maybe he was hearing them right now. Phil could only hope he wouldn’t give in.</p><p>He had to resist the urge to leap over the balcony as he watched Quackity slam the handle of his axe into the back of Techno’s head. He heard Techno hiss in pain through his teeth, but then cease his struggling. “Fucking <em>behave,</em>” Quackity snarled, “You chose to do things the hard way.” He shot a glance at Tubbo. “Put him in the cage.”</p><p>Tubbo was the first to walk up those steps, hands clasped. Techno stood still for a moment, but reluctantly followed suit when the vice president nudged him with the axe. He entered the confines of the cage, surrounded by the shabby iron bars. Tubbo locked him in, fumbling with the padlock for a moment. If it weren’t for the situation, Phil probably would’ve laughed at how thoroughly unimpressed Techno looked. </p><p>Tubbo cleared his throat loudly, “Technoblade,” he began, “I’ll let you know right now; this is not a trial, but an execution.”</p><p>Execution? Phil grabbed the railings of the balcony, straining his ears to hear every word.</p><p>“You see that lever right there?” Quackity cut in, and Phil darted his eyes over to look, “When we pull that lever, an anvil is gonna drop on you, and it’s gonna fucking kill you.” He smirked, smug, and moved his gaze to the president. “Mr. President, if you could do the honours of explaining to our nation the crimes of this man here.”</p><p>He nodded in response, “Technoblade has robbed our country. He robbed it of everything that made it special, of everything that defined it. We trusted him as an ally for months. And yet, in the war, he made his true intentions very clear when he <em>betrayed</em> us.” Tubbo shot a bitter glare. “He brings chaos wherever he goes. Spawning those withers, and attempting to destroy my government, is unforgivable. If Wilbur died for his crimes,” Phil’s jaw tightened. “Then I see it fit that Techno meets the same fate.”</p><p>A few claps from the crowd. How <em>dare</em> they? Techno had been completely transparent about his goals from the very start. He was following his own ideologies of anarchy, one that the others knew full well when they recruited him. He wasn’t a traitor at all. Phil hated how they looked at him, like he was some kind of monster. Techno was retired, he had changed his ways. He promised to Phil that his life of violence was over. He was going to become a good man. And yet here they had him up in a cage, planning to slaughter him in front of everyone like some kind of sick fucking <em>show.</em> </p><p>Phil swore he’d kill them.</p><p>Techno didn’t share his same anger. He just stared, unamused, at the members of the Butcher Army. He had to admire the gall of his son sometimes.</p><p>“Quackity, if you please.”</p><p>All eyes were cast his way. Quackity had a wide grin plastered across his face, “Of course, sir,” He resounded, almost giddy at the thought. He took a moment to calm his excitement (Phil wanted to wring his neck) then seized the lever with a gloved hand. </p><p>Techno began trying to twist his hands from the rope again. His calm demeanor had faded to one of urgency. Did he have a plan? Phil felt some relief wash over him. Of course he did, what had he been so worried about? <em>Technoblade never dies,</em> he’d been saying it since he was a child. He shook his head in disbelief, smiling to himself.</p><p>Quackity pulled the lever.</p><p>That smile wiped from his face when he saw Techno’s panic.</p><p>He was frantic. Struggling to free himself from the bonds as the anvil plummeted towards him. His chest was rising and falling with quick breaths, and his eyes were darting around for anything he could use to save himself. It seemed he was trying to grab something from his pocket, but his restricted hands prevented him from doing such thing. His plan, whatever it was, wasn’t working. Phil felt the fear set in again.</p><p>“Phil- <em>Dad!</em>” He suddenly shouted, looking to the balcony in desperation. It was the first time Phil had seen him like this: truly scared. Scared for his <em>life.</em></p><p>He was Techno’s last hope. He had to do something, anything, to save him. Phil’s heart was pounding. A knot had formed in his throat. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t let this happen.</p><p>His hands were so slippery with sweat he could barely hold the bow. In the split second Phil had to react, he fired a weak arrow. Maybe it could stop the anvil. It could direct the anvil off its course. It could prevent the anvil from colliding with his precious, beloved son’s head. It could-</p><p>The arrow missed.</p><p>Techno’s eyes were wide as he looked up, just in time to see his doom.</p><p>Phil should’ve closed his.</p><p>The sound was sickening. He could hear the <em>crunching</em> of his skull beneath the weight of the anvil. The shattering of the bones in his body. The spray of the gore coating the iron bars of the cage. The dripping of blood off the small stage, seeping into the dark oak below. </p><p>But amongst all the red, all that was left was the long, pink hair, still in its signature braid.</p><p>The crowd was cheering, <em>how were they cheering?</em> Phil choked on the hot bile rising in his throat, on the foulness of it. He was almost grateful for his vision blurring with tears. He didn’t want to look at this; the remains of his son. But he wanted to get off this balcony, just fucking jump down without caring what those <em>bastards</em> do and cradle him. God, what was <em>left</em> of him.  Whisper his teary goodbyes, brush his hair out of his face (if it was still intact) and tell him it was going to be okay even though it so obviously <em>wasn’t.</em> Just plead for him to come back, however irrational it was, and prove those fuckers wrong, to emerge triumphant like he always did. <em>Techno, my boy, please. Don’t do this to me. I can’t go through this again.</em> </p><p>But Techno was completely and irreversibly dead. He fell to his aching knees, a broken sob working its way from his throat. He couldn’t breathe, his chest was too tight. Too consumed by his grief. </p><p>He lost another son.</p><p>His family continued to break apart.</p><p>And, once again, he was at fault.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is my first time writing in a long time :) comments &amp; kudos appreciated</p></blockquote></div></div>
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